


For Home Is a Song That Echoes On

by HallsofStone2941



Series: 13 Days for 13 Dwarves [13]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bombur loves music, Bombur-centric, Canon Compliant, Challenge: 13 Days for 13 Dwarves, Grief through music, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Music, Shy!Bombur, Spoilers for Battle of Five Armies, a study in music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bombur is a quiet Dwarf most of the time - but if he trusts you enough, you may get to hear him sing. Music is, after all, a very big part of his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Home Is a Song That Echoes On

**Author's Note:**

> This one will be easier. It's another bit of headcanon, based on Stephen Hunter's drumming action behind the scenes. Bombur is much more quiet than his actor counterpart!

Bombur loves music.

Most people are surprised when they learn this. Bombur is always a shy Dwarf - quiet, with few words to say. He has often been mistaken for being mute; an assumption he does not bother to correct. There is always so much noise in the world: merchants shouting, people arguing, hammers clanging, pick-axes clinking. It's noise, noise, noise everywhere, and Bombur does not feel the need to contribute to this overwhelming din.

But music...music is harmonious, transcendental. It can be soft and peaceful, like a lullaby, or fluid and contenting, like home, or powerful and energizing, like a war song. Music can mourn and celebrate, teach and reminisce. It can send its listeners soaring above the highest mountain or bury them in the darkest caverns; it can lift them from their dark mood or knock them off the top of the world, all in the course of a few notes. Bombur feels it course through his body, forcing his toes to tap and his hips to swing from side to side. He hums when he cooks and sings when he is alone and, on some rare occasions, he will even dance. His enjoyment of music is not for anyone but himself, not truly, but he has found some people along the way to share it with.

* * *

He met his wife through music.

She had been playing in the market square one afternoon, a lively tune that had set the children - and Bombur, in his bakery - dancing. For the little ones, it was all-out hand-in-hand swinging around and jumping up and down. Bombur had been more subtle, a gentle swaying from side to side with every footstep as he moved about his kitchen. He had continued humming the tune long after she had finished, thinking how she and Bofur could make lovely duets. Great had been his surprise when a soft clearing of the throat had him whirling around to see none other than her strong, gentle face framed by dark red hair. She had worn an amused expression that fateful day, coquettishly asking if he had truly enjoyed her music that much. Poor, shy Bombur, having never really been faced with such a situation, had turned quite red and mumbled that yes, he had enjoyed her music very much.

Their courtship had included all the parts of Dwarven tradition, but it also included a great deal of music. She would play her fiddle for him, and he would sometimes sing. As he became more comfortable around her, he would dance, and leave Bofur to continue on the flute while he pulled her around the room, light on his feet despite his size. Throughout his life, Bombur would always think of his wife's music whenever his spirits were low.

* * *

He often wonders if music affects him more than others. He wonders if a single note can leave the people around him completely ensnared, like a fish on a hook.

There is the light, joyous music which pulls his heart to the sky, making him feel as if his soul could rise to the stars. His blood will pump in time with the rhythm; it will sing along with the notes, those unbearable, magnificent, untouchable creations that are like oxygen to his soul.

There are the gentle, homely tunes that make him think of warm, cozy walls, freshly-baked goods, and being surrounded by his family. They give him a feeling of contentment, as if everything is alright in the world. They are peaceful.

There are the songs of power, of beating drums and deep voices building up into crescendos that explode and make his body feel as if it cannot contain the awakened emotions within.

There are the lullabies, soft and quiet, which settle on him like soft snow on a silent winter's night. They are soothing, and sometimes sad - like a balm on a wound, letting him know that if things are not okay now, they will be okay tomorrow.

There are the mourning songs, the melodies that cry out in anguish. Songs that speak of loss that has not been reconciled, of open wounds that have never healed, of wrongs that have not been righted. They tear at his soul and make his heart ache until he is bent over in pain. Do others feel this pain? Does _Misty Mountains_ bring others to tears and make them sit in silence, remembering a past that was never theirs to behold? Bombur can see the fire and the death as plainly as if he had been there, as if those that died that fateful day had been his kin - but he was not, and they were not, for Smaug's coming had occurred many years before his birth.

How many people, he wonders, underestimate the power of music?

* * *

The procession moves slowly, grief visible in the bowed heads and slackened shoulders of the Men, Elves, and Dwarves around him. From somewhere in the cold, stone hallway, a lone fiddle plays, its haunting notes lingering in the otherwise-silent air. A harp soon joins, and then Bombur recognizes Bofur's flute; the three instruments weave a slow melody that rips his soul out, piece by agonizing piece.

The procession does not last long, but as the Company of Thorin Oakenshield - what remains of it, anyway - stands around three regal tombs, Bombur can hear the tune floating in the air, replaying again and again in his head as his legs threaten to give out. He wants to say something, or to sing, but his throat shuts down his vocal chords, and he can do nothing but swallow sobs as tears slip silently down his cheeks.

Bilbo steps forward, placing small blue flowers - Durin knows where he found them - on each tomb. His face is lined and dirty, with tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto his borrowed blue coat. He looks so very different from the Hobbit that had come running after them so many months ago; once he had been full of sunlight and innocence, but now he is darkened and world-weary. _An unkind thing we did, taking him out of his home_ , Bombur mourns sadly. They had no right, he thinks, to do such a thing.

And suddenly to urge to sing is stronger. He _must_ sing, one last time, for all of them. For Bilbo, who will never be the same. For Fili and Kili, who died before they had ever lived. For Thorin, who, despite his faults, had deserved to see the home he had worked so hard to reclaim. For everyone - the Men and the Elves and the Dwarves - lying still on the snowy battlefield, never to see their families again; and for those families, who sit at home hoping and praying that their loved ones will not be among the dead.

Bombur thinks that Thorin should be starting, as is his right. But he is not here, and he will never sing again. And the rest of Company will wait, forever, for him to begin. So Bombur starts instead, his voice quiet and wavering at first, but growing stronger as Bofur joins, then Bifur and Dwalin; the others, even Bilbo, adding their voices as the song continues:

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_  
 _To dungeons deep and caverns old._  
 _We must away, ere break of day,_  
 _To find our long, forgotten gold..._

**Author's Note:**

> I...yes, I like this one. It feels right - new and soft and the perfect way to end this (not including tomorrow's bonus day).
> 
> On another note, why is Bombur ALWAYS last? The poor Dwarf!
> 
> On another other notes, the flowers Bilbo leaves behind on Thorin's, Fili's, and Kili's tombs are forget-me-not, which is the best I could come up with on short notice.


End file.
